


Feel the tide turning

by JustSomeMusings



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Canon Divergence, I don't even know anymore, M/M, Mentions of mental health issues and panic attacks, Someone take my laptop away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 16:37:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustSomeMusings/pseuds/JustSomeMusings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck wakes up and these are the events that unfold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feel the tide turning

**Author's Note:**

> I changed some things around like Chuck living, as well as, the Kaidonovsky's and the Wei's because otherwise I get very, very sad. 
> 
> Chuck's dealing with some heavy mental health issues, so please be careful if that's triggering for you. 
> 
> Also unedited cause I'm submitting this before I go to work before I spend another whole night and day not doing what I'm supposed to be doing.

When he first wakes up he’s told over and over again how lucky he is to be alive. What a miracle it is. How astounding it was that he managed to live despite being encased in a metal escape pod that was melting onto his skin fusing him to it, while it melted to itself and fused shut. He only remembers screaming until his throat was so sore nothing could come out anymore. He has no idea when he passed out from agony, he has no idea how they found him, no idea how they saved him. 

He’s has no idea if he even wanted them too. 

But they do and he wakes to words like survivor, amazing, hero. They overwhelm him until he’s scrambling towards the surface trying to get a gasp of breathe before the waves pull him back under. Until he drowns. It roils and seethes and pitches him about until it all boils over and he’s trying to rip out IV lines and needles and trying to get his right arm to corporate. He tries to run. He doesn’t get very far since his legs aren’t very functional after two weeks of bed rest to try and heal the burns that will mottle the skin forever. 

It’s his dad who finds him. His dad who lifts him up with tears in his eyes. Who looks at him like his whole world might collapse if he disappears again. Fragile. His dad looks fragile. Chuck just sits on the edge of his bed and stares as his father looks at the ground like it holds all the answers. If it’s anything like the ceiling it won’t tell his dad how to fix him, how to make it all better. He looks up anyway with the faint, almost untraceable hope, that somehow that’s changed within the last hour he’s been in a heap on the floor.

It hasn’t.

The thumb brushing along his cheekbone startles him. It’s only then that he realizes that there’s something wet on his face. He jerks away from the touch and rubs stubbornly, angrily at his eyes. Crying is useless. It won’t help anything. It won’t solve anything. He rubs harder at his eyes when the hot drops run faster. He’s got to stop them. He’s twenty one years old. Twenty one year olds do not cry just because their lives have gotten a little tough. A little tough. Only a little. He chokes on a breathe. Clenches a fist in the nightgown on his chest to hold the pain in. Keep it tucked away. Keep it hidden in a dark corner of his heart and mind. 

There’s a touch to that fist, one that helps it open. One that takes it and squeezes. He finds himself pulled forward into a strong chest and held. Whispers reach him. They croon and call and plead for him to let go. They hum and resonate safety and love. It’s ok. It’s ok. He’s safe. They vibrate to his core, to that little black part of his heart and his mind. They tug and they pull and the walls around those dying parts come roaring down in a swirl of grief, pain, loss, anger. He doesn’t bother to stop the tears anymore, just hides them in his father’s chest. 

Its hours upon hours before he feels ok enough to reemerge and when he does, he wants to bury himself back in his dad and hide again, possibly forever. It’s like when he was a kid and a hug from his dad, or his mom, could fix anything and everything. And God does being held by his dad feel like it fixes everything. He’s older now though and he knows that this is only a temporary reprieve. The waves will come back and they’ll swallow everything again, but for now they’re gone. 

\---

He has to wait another two months before he’s released from the hospital ward of the Shatterdome. It was two months of sitting around with his dad rebuilding a fractured relationship. It’s not completely whole, but it’s about a thousand times better than it worse. They can actually talk now, well for the most part. They still have trouble talking about his mom and trouble is really just code for they get into nasty fights about it, so they avoid it all costs. They’ll get there though. If they can get to the point where they can hug from time to time instead of standing at least a foot away from each other at all times, then they’ll be able to talk about his mom at some point. They’ve got time now to fix this.  


They’ve got time. 

He never really thought he’d get much time. He’d known he was going to die. You don’t join the Jaeger program at twelve, graduate at fifteen, and not expect to die young. He knew he was going to die, most likely drown, since that’s how most pilots died. He’s been prepared since he first step foot in a Jaeger with his father. Since his first drift when his father looked at him utterly torn apart and heartbroken. He wasn’t under any illusions, so when Pentecost talked about Operation Pitfall it took him all of two seconds to know that he wasn’t coming back from this one. He was going to drown. To die. But he was damn well going to take the Kaiju with him. 

He doesn’t die. 

He was supposed to die. He’s been prepared to die. Been prepared for most of his life. He’s supposed to go down with Striker, with Pentecost. He’s supposed to die in Jaeger defending everything he ever cared about. He’s not supposed to be staring at an empty, gaping space where Striker should stand tall and proud. He’s not supposed to be getting slapped on the back and grinned at. He’s not supposed to be fighting blistering, blinding, aching of tears every minute, every day. 

He’s not supposed to be here. 

He’s supposed to be dead. 

\---

The worst part isn’t his mental state or that he lost his right arm, his dominant arm…ok, no those are pretty much the worst parts about all of this, but Recovery comes in a close second. It’s absolutely and completely draining. Everyday he’s forced into psych sessions that he doesn’t want. He can barely talk to his father about his fucked up mental state, he’s not about to start talking to some stranger about anything. Dr. Bloom is a sweet woman and honestly she’s right when she says talking will help, but he can’t bring himself to speak and he’s so fucking tired of trying. 

He’s sick of reporters, psychologists, well-meaning citizens all asking about how it feels to be alive. How it feels to be a miracle, a survivor, a hero. He loathes the pity they throw his way when they see his right arm gone or the scars that crisscross their way up his left. He hates the sympathy because it’s not like any of these people have a fucking clue. They simper and they pander and they call him strong and all he can feel is ice cold water creeping up his spine threatening to engulf and claim him. To drag him under. 

To drown him. 

The panic settles in with the rising tide. He tries to focus on the reporter’s question, but there’s only a buzzing that completely overshadows speech. The tide surges and he struggles to get a grasp on anything, anything at all. He can’t drown now. Not now. Not now. Not now. His breathes get sharp like he’s taking in water, but struggling for oxygen. He can’t settle his eyes. He can’t settle his thoughts. They crash and bang and heave against each other. And not now. Not now. Not now. He can’t. He can’t do this. He’s going to go under. He’s going to get dragged down. 

He’s going to drown. 

A palm settles over his forearm under the table. A thumb pressed to his pulse point. Circles. Small ones, pressed deep into the skin of his wrist. They submerge themselves there. They’re the only thing he can feel. A breathe. A circle. A breathe. A circle. A breathe. An endlessly repeating pattern tucked away under a table. A point of focus and breathe and a slow recession of the tide. He can breathe, he can focus, he can relax. It’s a rescue, one hidden from everyone. 

Except for him and Raleigh. 

\---

Recovery is the second worst thing, but the worst thing about it is Occupational Therapy. Physical Therapy he can handle. He can get lost in that. There’s no thinking involved. It’s just doing a set of exercises over and over again. Physical Therapy is actually a comfort because when he does it he knows that he’ll get back his strength. It doesn’t seem like much, but he’ll take anything that will make him feel little bit more like his brash twenty one year old self. 

Occupational Therapy frustrates and enrages him because it reminds him of all that he’s lost. He has to relearn so many skills with his left hand. It’s endlessly incensing that he can’t write his letters and numbers anymore without a shit ton of work. Even then they come out shaky and the lines are never straight. He’s learning to tie ties and button buttons one handed. He’s even trying to catch a ball one handed, which seemed so easy he snorted when his OT suggested it, but even that’s something he has to relearn how to do. 

He just wants to be able to do it all already. He wants to be out of Recovery. He wants to stop thinking about all of this and all the fallout of it. He wants to blink and have it all be over. He wants to be able to write again, to tie a tie, and button fucking buttons without having to struggle. He can’t even cut his own food up. He hates not being able to do anything for himself. He’s been independent since his dad joined the Jaeger program and now he’s relying on everyone to help him. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate his dad’s smiles or Mako’s endless patience or Tendo’s stories when they help him, but he wants his freedom back. He wants to not need help because he was so strong when he didn’t have it. 

He’s fucking hates not being strong. 

He hates how weak he feels. 

He hates himself right now. 

The OT clears her throat to get his attention back to his writing practice.

He stares at it blankly. 

He gets up. 

He leaves. 

\---

He can’t decide what to do with his free time. He’s not on active duty because of his injuries, so anytime he goes to work on the Jaeger, they’re building a new one, he gets shooed away. It sucks. He worked on the Jaegers all the time as a Ranger. He was great at it. Still is. Mechanics come to him as easy as breathing. He just wants to be busy and not think. The techs from the various other teams would let him stay, but the Striker techs know better. They know all of his methods for hiding from the things he doesn't want to do and as soon has one of them spots him they force him out of the Jaeger Bay. He tries to hide from them. It really doesn’t work, at all. The head tech rolls his eyes at the puppy dog eyes and at Max’s. 

“I’m not getting skinned alive by your father,” the tech mutters. He throws his hands up in surrender and leaves the Bay. 

So really the question is what to do with all his free time because PT and psych don’t take up his whole day and he’s stopped going to OT, so he has even more time. He wants to catch up on movies and books and TV shows. All the things he’s missed while piloting. He wants to go out and walk around the Bone Slums because he’s never gotten the chance, although now he’d probably have to disguise himself in some way. He wants to drive for miles and miles to some unknown destination. He wants to see different countries, different place, different people. He wants to lay on a blanket and look at the stars and figure out all their patterns. 

There are so many things he wants to do, that he can’t bring himself to do. He never thought he’d be here to do them. And now, and now it feels like he’s cheated death and he’s not sure if he deserves to get to do all those things. He wants, oh how he wants, but it’s hard to get past the notion that he supposed to be at the bottom of the ocean, not burrowed under the covers with Max sleeping curled up against his chest. In the end he decides to sleep. If he’s not allowed to work to take his mind off all this conflicting emotional shit, then he’ll sleep through it.

\---

It’s Mako, not his father, who wakes him up. He blinks blearily at her smiling face. She holds up a basket. He blinks in confusion. She grins and tips it enough, so that he can see it’s filled with all his favorite foods. There are Tim Tams in that basket. When he manages to look away from the food Mako’s still grinning, but now she’s holding up a blanket too. He raises an eyebrow because they are no longer small children sneaking around the Shatterdome, secreting away food, and talking about what it’s going to be like to pilot a stories high robot. 

“We are going on a picnic,” Mako announces. She stands and tugs at his covers. He fights for control of them for old time’s sake. He’s laughing by the time she’s managed to put down the basket and heave him onto the floor with all his covers. 

They go on a picnic. 

It’s the best he’s felt in a long time. 

\---

He’s been noticeably absent from OT for just over three weeks, which isn’t surprising considering how much hatred he's shown towards the whole thing. He still goes to his mandatory psych sessions and now he talks to Dr. Bloom about Max and sometimes about his dad. Never about Pitfall, Recovery, or his mom. He still goes to PT. He can do more without getting exhausted now. He’s in better shape now. He’s feeling more settled than he has in a long time. His dad’s noticed and he’s pretty sure that’s the whole reason he hasn’t been forced back into OT. It won’t last, but the break from the ceaseless thread of vibrant anger is nice. 

Surprisingly it’s not his dad who forces him to go back to OT. 

It’s Raleigh. 

\---

“Come back,” Raleigh pleaded. They’ve been at this for a half an hour. His answer hasn’t changed in the half an hour he’s been stuck on the stairs to his room going in a circular argument. 

“No,” was his constant retort. Raleigh heaves another one of his huge sighs. Scrubs at his face for what has to be the hundredth time during this conversation. He’s looking at the floor again like he thinks it’ll give him inspiration. He can tell Raleigh that it won’t. Raleigh can just ask his dad or the ceiling he stared at for two and half months while in the hospital ward. At this point he knows Raleigh is going to look up at him with a pleading look begging him to say yes. The other pilot will ask again and he’ll say no again and they’ll continue to go in a circle. 

“I don’t want to do it alone,” Raleigh says instead. His head snaps forward from where he’s been leaning it back against his door. What. 

“They’re making me go through all the Recovery I didn’t do in Anchorage,” and Raleigh’s got his attention now. He’s got that self-deprecating smile on. The one that says he knows he should have done something and he never did. 

And Raleigh still doesn’t want to. 

So when Raleigh asks again he says yes. 

\---

Occupational Therapy is just as horrendous as he remembers. It’s probably even worse now that he’s taken three weeks off from it. The thread of anger under his skin pulls taught. Rationally he knows the OT is only doing her job when she corrects him, but it only serves to make him more frustrated. He’s trying, he really is, he’s just also steadily giving up hope that he’ll ever be able to write letters properly again. He’s slowly giving up hope that he won’t always need help with everything now. He won’t be independent. He won’t get his freedom back. 

He hasn’t felt like drowning in weeks. 

He feels it now. 

Raleigh covers his left hand, the one clenched so tight around the pencil it snaps in half, with one of his own. He releases the pencil as if it’s scalded him. They all remain silent as Raleigh tangles his fingers with his. The older man squeezes and somehow gets a thumb to the pulse point in his wrist. There’s circles there, buried under his skin, buried in his pulse, and Raleigh adds new ones to the collection. The ricocheting of his heartbeat is so loud in his ears. 

He slumps back in his seat and throws his head back until he’s staring at the ceiling. Everything always seems to end up with him asking the ceiling questions lately. He doesn’t notice when an arm comes down around the back of his chair or when a hand wraps around his bad shoulder. He does notice when circles get pressed into his skin there too. He closes his eyes and just feels them. Let everything else go and just focus on those two points. He takes deep breathes and concentrates until he feels normal again. When he opens his eyes again Raleigh’s giving him a small smile. 

Somehow the other man gets a new pencil in his hand. 

Somehow they manage to hold it together. 

And somehow they manage to trace the letters on his exercise. 

They’re straighter than they've been months. 

\---

He gets shaken awake. It’s not his dad or Mako this time. It’s a blonde haired, blue eyed Ranger with a grin that’s all teeth on his face. Raleigh’s waggling a book over his face. He swats at the other man, but he doesn’t even flinch. The other pilot chuckles instead and he feels vaguely disgruntled. He’ll feel more disgruntled in the morning, well later in the morning. Raleigh tugs the covers off of him. Must have learned that from Mako. He lets out a groan and tries to disappear into his pillow, however that plan fails spectacularly when his pillow gets yanked out from under his head. He glares at Raleigh. New plan. He puts his head down on Max. Raleigh can’t tug Max off the bed. 

“Max. Come here,” the older Ranger commands and Max, the utter traitor, goes. 

“What do you want?” he moans out. God he just wants to sleep. 

“Get up. We’re going to the roof,” and Raleigh looks so excited at the prospect that he starts to feel a little excited despite himself. 

“Why?” 

“To do stuff and things,” Raleigh proclaims with that grin that’s all teeth again. Chuck just rolls his eyes and rolls out of bed. He pulls on a sweatshirt and Raleigh plops a knitted hat onto his head and then adjusts it until it fits perfectly. The man’s still grinning even as he bundles up all the blankets and pillows that he has with him. He didn’t even know those were there, but he grabs his own to bring. It’s going to be so cold up there. Why in the hell are they doing this in the middle of winter? 

Raleigh just grins at his grumbling as they walk to the roof. And good God it’s freezing as all fuck. Thank the Lord he grabbed his sweatshirt and the blankets before they came up here. He goes to follow Raleigh’s lead and set up whatever ever it is they’re setting up, but Raleigh makes him dump his blankets and then waves him off, so he stands off to the side shivering and waiting. The more Raleigh builds, the more it looks like a nest. He’s so fucking puzzled by this whole thing. But he goes to Raleigh when the other man is done.He tries to keep some space between them when they sit, but Raleigh just drags him closer until they’re pressed all together. He relieved that Raleigh had the foresight to avoid his right side because there is still pain there. Dr. Bloom says it’s not really there, that’s it’s called phantom limb. He doesn't really care what it’s called. It hurts. 

Raleigh waits till they’re both settled before dragging his comforter around the two of them. He pulls the book he was waving about earlier. He gets a closer look at it and realizes it’s a book on Greek mythology. He turns his look of surprise on the older man and Raleigh just grins. 

“Mako said you’ve always wanted to learn about the stars,” Raleigh shrugs and he feels the movement vibrate through him, “So I’m going to teach you about the stars.” 

“And what,” he clears his throat. It’s suddenly dry, “What do you know about the stars?” 

“There’s not much to do when you grow up in Alaska. You learn the constellations. I remember most of them, but I forgot some of their stories, hence…” Raleigh lifts the book back into his view. He just stares for a few seconds and then he smiles. 

And it’s real. 

“Go on then.” 

\---

Raleigh has the patience of a saint. 

That’s what he’s learned most from OT. He’s not an easy patient. Not by anyone’s standards. But Raleigh withstands all the tirades and the frustration and sits with him day after day. The older man just smiles when a pencil comes flying at his head. The OT is exasperated with the both of them because while he’s making progress, Raleigh hasn’t actually done any of the OT he’s supposed too. The Ranger is helping with his instead. Whenever the OT attempts to give Raleigh something to do Raleigh just smiles and then turns to help him with whatever he’s doing. 

\---

He only remembers it’s his birthday when Raleigh nudges him awake at midnight. The idiot is smiling like a fiend and he has a poorly wrapped present in his hand. He rolls his eyes. Raleigh’s constant enthusiasm is both endearing and exhausting. How anyone can be that excited about things at all times is beyond him. 

He takes the gift with wariness. Raleigh continues to grin as he tears at the paper covered box and throws off the lid. Inside is a sweater. A really lumpy, midnight blue sweater. For such a heavy knit it’s so soft when he runs his fingers along it. He looks up at Raleigh whose smile has softened. 

“Put it on.” 

He does. It’s huge on him, so much so, that it slides off what's left of his right shoulder. He laughs because of course Raleigh knit him a sweater that’s three sizes too big on him. He loves it though. It’s soft and warm and his mother always did like him best in blue. 

Raleigh kisses his bare shoulder when he says that. 

\---

He doesn’t quite realize how much time they’ve been spending together until his dad makes a comment about them, 

“Stuck together with glue, you two are.” 

His food stops halfway to his mouth. Raleigh freezes and he stops drawing circles on his knee. They both just stare at his father who shrugs like it’s no big deal, but now they’ve got the whole tables attention. Newt is looking at them like they’re a puzzle that he’s determined to solve, while Gottlieb mutters about people not knowing how to mind their own business. Tendo looks poleaxed. The Wei’s are snickering amongst themselves, while the Kaidonovsky’s have their shark grins out. 

It’s Mako that really gets his attention though. She’s smiling at them. It’s soft and knowing. He furrows his brows at her as if to ask what. She only smiles a little more.  


Beside him Raleigh shrugs. 

The circles resume. 

\---

He really shouldn’t be surprised when a month later Dr. Bloom asks him about Raleigh. They’ve talked about a lot of things. They’ve touched on the people he considers family now, Mako, Raleigh, the Kaidonovsky’s, the Wei’s, Tendo, and the scientists. His little broken family. They’ve actually talked about his mom. He hadn’t realized just how painful that still was years and years later. He left that session more off kilter then he’d been since he woke up. His dad had set him right. His dad had hugged him and made everything all right. They had their first conversation about mom without it resorting to a fight. 

He doesn’t want to talk about Raleigh though. He’s not really sure how he feels about the other man. 

He just knows that Raleigh makes him happy.

\---

On the first year anniversary of Pitfall Raleigh takes him up the roof again. They bundle up in all their bedding again. Raleigh reads him stories about Gods and monsters and the heroes that help save the world. He doesn’t even hesitate to lean his head on Raleigh’s shoulder when he gets sleepy. Raleigh’s arm comes up on around his shoulders to hold him close. He feels like he should be uncomfortable cause it’s his right side pressed up against the other man, but he doesn’t. There’s no pain there anymore. 

He’s come to term with the fact that he’ll never be completely whole. He’ll never be that brash twenty one year old that was so ready to die for the world to live, but that’s ok. It’s ok. He’s a still a bold man, but he’s more tempered and even. He’s calm. Calmer than he’s ever been. Some of that is because he’s finally really openly talking to Dr. Bloom about Pitfall and the aftermath. Some of it is him being able to write his letters and his numbers without them looking incomprehensible. A lot of it has to do with his healing relationship with his dad. By all accounts he can still be a jerk, but he’s less egotistical and he’s got less daddy issues. 

Raleigh presses a circle into his shoulder to gain his attention, 

“Thought I lost you for a second.” 

“You did,” he mumbles, cheeks turning pink, “But I’ll always come back.” 

Raleigh’s smile is so blindingly bright that Chuck has to kiss him to steal some of the light.


End file.
